


The Achilles Kneel

by ForASecondThereWedWon



Series: Spideychelle: Adulthood, More or Less [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dom Peter Parker, F/M, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Kink Negotiation, Lace Panties, Living Together, Mutual Masturbation, Peter and MJ in their 20s, Prompt Fic, Restraints, Sub Michelle Jones, Tumblr Prompt, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-01-26 15:24:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21376324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForASecondThereWedWon/pseuds/ForASecondThereWedWon
Summary: “You wanna do this now? Tonight?”“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he whispers.Looks like MJ's found his weakness. To be fair, Peter did tell it to her.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Series: Spideychelle: Adulthood, More or Less [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1808836
Comments: 86
Kudos: 321





	1. Cock

**Author's Note:**

> This fic's prompts (from Tumblr): 2. "Can you help me with this zipper?," 21. "Get on your knees," 22. "This cock isn't gonna suck itself," and 49. "I want to see those pretty little lips wrapped around my cock."

They got home from the restaurant, brushed the teriyaki sauce out of their teeth and off their tongues, put their pajamas on, and climbed under the sheet like two kids with a set bedtime. It’s tense though, so tense that MJ has to hold in hysterical laughter. They’re going to have sex―they _are_. Doesn’t matter that Peter’s on his back with his legs bent weird and she’s hugging the edge of the mattress, tipping her head over the side every so often to let the blood pool. She can sense the sex nights. Not to shit on the Peter-tingle, but...

(MJ’s sex sense is so much better.)

She’s lying there in a stretched-out, oversized Blackhearts t-shirt with armholes that twist funny when she suddenly flips over because there’s been the slightest dip on Peter’s side of the bed. On nights like these, his tiny movements are jangling bells calling for her attention.

“What if we...” he starts.

His arms are stretched up, ready to catch a falling star. Or, more likely, their collapsing ceiling because MJ’s pretty sure 8E above them recently augmented his home fitness regime with a mini trampoline.

“...tried something,” he finishes.

MJ rustles the sheets with her shoulders, settling onto her back.

“Like a different Japanese place? Because, yeah, they aren’t doing the sake chazuke as well as they used to.”

Peter sighs.

“M...”

She giggles.

“Sorry. I’m nervous. Not _nervous_,” she corrects herself quickly, “but I have that funny energy.”

“Can I...?”

“Oh, for sure. Continue.”

“I thought maybe you could... or maybe I... what if...?”

MJ reaches out to place her palm on his abdomen. Slowly, she slides it back and forth, dragging his t-shirt with it, then turns her head to peer at him in the dark.

“What d’you want?” she asks softly, aiming for seductive.

Her boyfriend laughs self-consciously and rubs a hand over his face.

“Oh man, that definitely helps.”

“What, this?” MJ inches up the hem of his t-shirt and lets her fingertips skim his bare skin. “A little of this?” She props herself up on an elbow and pulls at the neck of her shirt, flashing a hilariously modest bit of shoulder.

Peter laughs at her straight-faced antics like his regular self, then blurts, “I want to dominate you.”

For several seconds, she actually thinks he’s joking. She starts to snort and has to swallow the sound back down as a dry cough.

This is new for him. Their sex life isn’t scandalously colourful, but they’ve each got some moves. Usually, though, it’s sort of just the two of them making love in a balanced way. It can get intense, actually, the unity of them. She, at least, isn’t thinking about control on the nights when it really does feel like they might be one complete person. Other nights, she rides him rough and they knock assorted junk off the coffee table because Peter’s sprawled out on his back on the living room rug, shoving things aside to make room with MJ not helping at all because she’s already crawling on top of him.

But him being the boss? He’s never shown any hint, any inclination. Apparently, Peter’s better at keeping some secrets than others.

“Ok,” she says.

“I haven’t even explained―”

“I know what dominating is, Parker.”

“―and you’re saying ‘ok’?”

“I’m saying ok.” They look at each other and she smiles. Holding his eye, MJ mouths, “I love you.”

“Oh, right.” Peter smiles back.

“So there’s that,” she says aloud. “Talk to me about it,” she prompts when he seems to be floundering.

“Uhhh...”

“Come on, babe, take charge.”

For encouragement, she sneaks her fingers barely beneath the waistband of his pajama bottoms.

“I want it to be like...” Peter glances at her and she nods, “...like I come home and you’re, you’re here in bed. And I... wake you up.”

“Right?”

He inhales deeply.

“And make you suck me off,” he says in a rush.

“So this is a whole...” She waves her hand in the air above them. “...scenario?”

“If it freaks you out...”

“I’m not freaked out,” MJ blurts. She thinks it’s hot as fuck and didn’t realize it was something she craved for them until Peter sprung it on her. In a blink of a fantasy, she imagines his insistent hand on the back of her head. There’s a greedy pulse between her thighs. “You wanna do this now? Tonight?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he whispers.

She extracts her hand from his pants to run it soothingly up his arm. Peter pulls her close for a minute, presses their cheeks together so she can feel the tip of his nose against her ear.

“I’m gonna get up and get dressed.”

MJ rubs his chest.

“Show me who’s boss, Tiger. You’ll be great.”

Her boyfriend slips out of the sheets and starts gathering the clothes he was wearing earlier. Figuring she won’t be needed for a couple of minutes, and that ignoring his presence will play into Peter’s fantasy, MJ curls towards the far side of the bed again and shuts her eyes.

When the lights flick on, she gives a genuine groan at the brightness.

“I was sleeping,” she complains, yanking the sheet over her head.

“I need you up.”

He grasps her covers from the foot of the bed where he now stands and snatches them off of her. All the way off. MJ tugs her t-shirt down over her hips.

“Am I being too reluctant?” she asks, breaking character. Peter looks relieved by the fact of her asking a question.

“No. Am I too domineering?”

MJ shakes her head and they get back into it. She sits up.

“Why do you need me up?” Exhales heavily and yawns for effect.

“Well...” And here’s Peter gathering his courage again. “This cock isn’t gonna suck itself.”

There isn’t enough ego in his voice to make it a demand, but this is her Peter, talking about his ‘cock.’ She doesn’t think she’s ever heard him say the word before, can’t recall a conversation where he ever referred to his penis so pointedly that a noun was required.

“Oh no,” he says abruptly, “and tell me to stop any time if you hate this and you’d rather we―”

MJ holds a finger to her lips and smiles behind it.

“And this is a pressing need?” she checks, voice teasingly sexy. “Couldn’t wait ‘til tomorrow?”

“See for yourself,” Peter offers, and then he―good god―he fucking crooks his finger to invite her closer.

She sighs like her boyfriend’s words aren’t getting her wet and are instead a major inconvenience to her sleep schedule, rising to her knees and crawling down the bed to him. MJ knows damn well that he can see down the front of her shirt. She sits on her feet, in a spread-kneed slouch. Now he’s getting a view of the rest of her, if he has the balls to openly look. Peter’s always been a little shy about staring.

He glances down and his face flushes―all of a sudden, MJ’s thankful for the overhead light. Recovering, he steps closer to the bed and nods in the direction of his crotch. Her eyes flick up and down. So Peter’s into this. The visible strain against the dark grey of his dress pants is proof enough for her, but she gets the feeling that isn’t how this game works. She’s going to make it good for him, embrace her boyfriend’s request.

MJ presses her palm to the front of his trousers, running her hand unhurriedly up and down before gripping to feel him hardening further.

“I guess it can’t wait.”

“Told you,” he says.

Her heart feels pounded by a mallet when Peter stares her down and unbuckles his belt. Surely MJ has watched him do this before, she just hasn’t specifically paid attention to it, nor seen it happen near eye level. The way his fingers move. The sound of leather hitting leather as he flips the short, pierced length back to get the buckle undone. He leaves the ends dangling to pop the button and MJ almost moans in second-hand relief at the thought of the extra room his erection will have to swell. She’s warm without the sheet now.

“Can you help me with this zipper?”

“A little sterner, I think,” she suggests, hand hesitating less than a foot from his groin.

“I told you it was a need, didn’t I?”

This isn’t Sweet Peter crosschecking their transcript, it’s sarcastic Dominant Peter, and, a fan of sarcasm herself, MJ approves. He grabs her wrist, light but swift, and brings her hand to his zipper himself.

“Pick up the pace, I can’t wait to feel your tongue on me.”

Unconsciously, MJ uses her other hand to gather her hair away from the back of her neck, letting some air hit her skin. She feels like a piece of bread that, every time Peter says something unexpectedly horny, gets slammed back down into the toaster, radiated by heat from those wiggly red wires.

“You want to hold my hair?” she asks when she catches her boyfriend watching her hungrily.

“Soon.”

MJ releases her hair just to give him something to look forward to and grasps the waist of his pants, edging the zipper down with the hand he placed there himself. She sighs longingly; she loves it when he wears the black boxer briefs. They’re a clothing item that really look their most flattering with his erection stretching the cotton. Very becoming. (She could ghostwrite for Austen.)

“You want it, don’t you?” There’s grit in Peter’s voice that shoots up her spine like reverse-lightning.

She cocks her head, narrows her eyes, and gives him a smirk.

“You know I do.”

But when MJ goes to free his dick, he grabs both her wrists in an unbreakable yet tender grip. Peter―seriously, fuck this guy, in every possible meaning of the word, what is he _doing_ to her?―leers down at her, doing a second ogling of her body that’s half the speed of the first (good for him, she thinks).

“Not like this. Get off the bed.” He releases her wrists and his gaze doesn’t wander as she stands in front of him.

They assess each other for a minute. MJ gives the questioning look in his eyes a reassuring smile that makes it disappear. She exhales steadily through her nose, feeling their soft bedroom rug under her feet and thinking about the usual circumstances of her knees grazing it. When she has to look below their bed for her shoe because she has a bad habit of kicking them off her feet from a distance. When she loses the rock-paper-scissors match for who has to clear the buildup of spider webs from underneath their bedside tables. Boring, perfunctory reasons. Not giving her boyfriend a blowjob reasons.

“I’m assuming you’d like some help with these buttons.” MJ fingers the front of his navy button-down. “Can I do that for you, Sir?”

Peter’s eyes close in obvious pleasure and he breathes slowly.

“Take it easy with that one,” he requests, his everyday self again for a moment. “You have no idea how―well, I guess you probably know _exactly_ how powerful that is coming out of your mouth.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She raises an eyebrow. “I know what comes with ‘great power.’”

“Hopefully me.”

Abruptly, Peter wraps an arm around her waist and tugs her against him. His erection feels like a flashlight denting into her stomach. MJ wonders, in his superhero capacity, if he’s ever considered a utility belt. She’ll ask another time.

“The buttons,” he reminds her, ducking his face to her throat. She doesn’t expect the first thing she feels to be his hot tongue tracing along her skin and she jumps. Peter holds her tighter.

Collecting herself enough for the moment, MJ works from top to bottom, undoing his shirt, then parting it to smooth her hands across his naked skin. She’s happy to find he didn’t put the undershirt he’d had beneath back on. She wants to say so, but Peter grabs her jaw and kisses her suddenly and insistently. Inhaling sharply through her nose makes her ephemerally dizzy and she’s more than content to be folded into his arms, pressed up against his waiting length.

When their mouths separate and her boyfriend gives her a little space to move (his eyes looking blissfully glassy), MJ holds his gaze and pushes the shirt off his shoulders, sliding it down so she can feel the firm arc of his muscles from shoulder to forearm. The indent of his defined triceps is deep enough to linger in for several additional caresses. Fuck, he is a sight to behold.

With the shirt on the ground behind him, MJ drops her gaze meaningful, then looks back into his eyes.

“May I?”

His jaw tenses with a strength that would likely crush an unenhanced person’s teeth into powder instantly. He’s probably holding in some curse words that she’s going to coax out of him during their future sessions. Which they will definitely be having because, _ugh_! He’s flushed, he’s flexing from the anticipation, his cock is straining so violently that it’s practically beckoning to her, he’s clutching her with a desperation that sets her pulse pounding everywhere (_ev_erywhere). MJ listens to her sudden urge to take her shirt off.

“Holy fuck,” he says to the reveal of her nude body. She sees him pant a breath and compose himself. He shifts his bare feet. “Get on your knees.”

Now _there’s_ the sternness he was afraid to employ earlier. Still, Peter says, “holy _fuck_,” again when she sinks down as ordered, trailing her hand down his chest as she goes. Or maybe his repetition was in response to the quiet, “yes, Sir,” she said under her breath, knowing he’d hear it.

(Mentally, she takes a second to appreciate the rug that’s allowing her to do this in comfort. May picked it, always looking out for them. MJ’s new favourite purpose for it is a secret that will never leave this room.)

She leans in and kisses along the waist of his undone trousers―along the top of his underwear where the pants hang open. Peter’s breathing loudly above her.

“This was hot, by the way,” she speaks into his skin, making his abs jump. She walks her fingers along his belt and glances up at him. Her brain flatlines for a second, viewing her boyfriend at this new angle. “Watching you unbuckle this.”

“Hey, if you have a buckle fixation, we could look into c-cuffs,” he chokes on the word and MJ watches his dick jerk, “for the bed.”

She actually hadn’t thought of that, considering her apparent thing for watching Peter’s hands work buckles is less than ten minutes old. Sidetracked, MJ imagines him securing her wrists and using his mouth on her body at his leisure. There’s a thick, wet squeeze of approval from between her legs. The concept has... potential.

Flustered, MJ goes back to kissing Peter’s stomach, sliding her hands around to brush over his ass before grabbing his pants and pulling them down. The slippery material of dress pants probably makes them drop to the floor easier for dudes with less beefy thighs. She doesn’t mind the extra effort.

“If you want the option, Sir.”

“Fuck,” Peter mutters. And just like that, his fingers are already in her hair as he steps out of his pants, lightly mapping the wave and twist of a strand. “So you’re not going to take it easy with the ‘sirs,’ then.”

An observation, not a question. The distinction in how he talks to her, how he deals with her assertions and opinions, is one of the reasons MJ loves him so much.

He removes one hand from her head to trace her face from cheek to chin, skirting her jaw, with a trembling finger.

“I know something else you could do with your mouth.”

“Do you?” It’s not playing innocent if she stares back at him with challenging eyes, right? His brown eyes say he’s ravenous.

“You wanna know the truth?”

Peter’s fingers―both hands now―dig deep into her hair, cupping beneath the curve where her neck meets her skull. It’s still careful, but it isn’t sweet.

“I want to see those pretty little lips wrapped around my cock.”

Her lips do part, but not immediately for the purpose he said. It’s the surprise. There’s Peter’s new favourite word again. God, how deep does this go? What other terms and phrases is he going to spring on her? Is tonight the gateway to her boyfriend’s kinky side? This is exciting, this is front-page news.

Lacking a witty retort, MJ plants a kiss on his hip, gliding her mouth lower to his thigh as she peels his underwear down. Bye-bye sexy boxer briefs. The way they strain going over his thighs has her whole chest quaking with heavy breathing.

“Ok?” he checks, rubbing softly with his thumbs behind her ears. “You look kind of... stunned.”

She nearly laughs at the idea of this being daunting or anything besides... magnificent? In the interest of minimizing miscommunications that could make Peter feel mocked or self-conscious, she shakes her head.

“Just taking in the sights,” MJ assures him, then quickly leans in to brush her lips along his shaft. “Don’t forget to breathe,” she says when Peter makes a strangled sound above her. “Sir.”

Tempted to see how long she can tease him before he remembers he’s supposed to be the one calling the shots, she runs her closed lips over him leisurely, keeping her hands lightly on his outer thighs. She avoids the head of his dick for the moment because nudging there without a grip on the rest of him has the potential to get his erection swaying like a pendulum (ok, maybe that’s an exaggeration)―she’d have to laugh and the whole thing would go to hell. Gradually, her tentative passes turn into distinct kisses and she licks her lips in between, wetting his cock one kiss at a time. MJ holds her mouth loose enough as she sweeps upward that her lower lip drags and gives him a preview of the inside of her mouth. He emits a suffering sigh and she grins, peeking her tongue out to lick the vein that pulses in response. Peter makes the beginning of a grunt and, fuck, she feels that primally.

MJ kneads his thighs with both hands as she covers his cock with open-mouthed kisses now. At first, she doesn’t move her hands any higher, only inward, over the juicy curve of muscle at the front of his leg; visions of thigh-riding dance in her head. Peter’s fingers begin scratching gently at her scalp, sending tingles through her. (Is this the _real_ Peter-tingle? Somebody needs to ask the tough questions.) Soon, his fingers are all scratching upward―he’s trying to shift her higher, onto the head of his erection, dribbling pre-cum for want of her tongue. It’s such a powerful position, controlling his pleasure like this, that it takes her a minute to remember that the point of this little exercise is her bending to his will, not the other way around.

Peter switches from gentle scrapes to tugging her hair and, a little wetter between the thighs, MJ obeys as her eyelids flutter briefly closed. She brings a hand to the base of his dick, encircles it with medium firmness, and strokes her closed lips over the head of his cock. He whines from his throat and she applies her tongue, trying to keep it in place as he jerks in her hand. Moving her head away, she ducks to lick straight from her grip to his head and over, blurring her saliva with his fluids like mixing colours on a palette. A full groan from above.

“_Fuck_, M, open your mouth. Let me in your fucking mouth,” he rushes out.

She breaks her grip and strokes a sweetly tormenting finger over his balls. As Peter’s abs seize in surprise―if she’s drooling at the view, that can really only help her―MJ takes the head of him into her mouth, cushioning him with her tongue in case he jolts in response. He does, so she closes her fist back around his length as well.

“That’s it,” her boyfriend sighs, voice arousingly deep with relief.

She smoothes her other hand up to his hip to get it closer to the action. It’s not that she thinks he’ll buck too deep into her throat on purpose, but the option of pulling him closer or holding him back sinks her further into the moment. Plus, the guy is _Spider_-Man, so animal instincts are not to be discounted. And few animal instincts come ahead of the drive to fuck.

For now, MJ works mostly with her mouth, giving her encircling hand the faintest twist while she rolls her tongue against him. Peter shifts on his feet and she takes the opportunity to shift on her knees. The fluffiness of the rug is not failing her yet though. She backs off of him and blows air across his slick head (he shudders wonderfully), then plunges down again. Her lips wrap around him lower, the whole head of him in her mouth, and she daydreams about wearing red lipstick. He’d probably go wild for a lipstick-marker souvenir, a line for visualizing how far inside her mouth he’d been. Hmm, another thought for next time.

Oops, she’s hummed aloud and Peter scrunches her hair in both hands, rolling his hips. Normally, she’s witness to the strain of him forcing himself to stay totally still as she gives him a blowjob. This is... this hint of him reacting solely for his pleasure... Well, she’s rolling her own hips over nothing and squeezing his hip with fingers she’d like to hook inside herself. He’ll be good to her after this though. It’s not even a question. MJ just needs a little discipline to prevent herself from rushing to get there.

Or discipline from Peter, ‘cause that’s an option too, with him mumbling, “Deeper,” then more clearly, “_Deeper_.”

About ready to start rubbing her clit against the rug in desperation, MJ slides her fist up and down his length, then dips to feel his head in the back of her mouth, pushing towards her throat. Before the choking sensation can take hold, she backs off, easing down again after a deep inhale through her nose. She turns her head, rotating to let her tongue glide along as much of his circumference as she can get at. Stretches down, sucks on the way up. A vein is twitching in Peter’s groin, one that climbs from her current eye level up towards his navel. His fingers flex in her hair.

“Just like that,” he mutters when she takes as much of his cock as she can and sucks hard on the upstroke.

Peter’s nervous to rock his hips now, which means he really wants to. MJ skates her hand around to his ass and he clutches insistently at the back of her head. It’s what she imagined, and better in reality. Sex with a superhero is just one of those things, she guesses, that supersede even the best presupposition.

From opposite sides, but with the same method, they push themselves together―her, inviting his cock, him, compelling the slackening of her jaw as so much of him disappears between her lips. He’s watching too; she looks up at him on a withdrawal and sees a version of her boyfriend who’s never been in their bedroom before: lost. Profoundly lost, like he never wants to be found. He has his eyes shut, lips parted. Flushed cheeks, nose, the tips of his ears.

She lets him thrust blissfully along her tongue and sneaks her hand from his shaft to his balls. He notices once she’s there, of course, cupping him in her palm.

“I’m so... close.” It takes a handful of seconds for his fuzzy brain to come up with the word.

MJ clenches between her thighs and takes a death grip of Peter’s marble sculpture of an ass, propelling him in and out of her mouth. Her boyfriend moans now, freely and endlessly. Rubbing her fingertips over his balls, she rapidly debates spitting or swallowing. Spitting. It’s what she usually does―no shame, it’s her damn choice―and a great use for the sink in the bathroom right off their bedroom.

Wait, the rug! If she pulls away at the wrong moment. No, no, no. Swallowing.

She says it aloud too, before diving back down on what becomes her final suck because Peter goes nuts at her announcement and loses it, releasing on her tongue and down her throat. His fingers are tangled determinedly in her hair, lifting it into a snarled updo, the yank making her swallow with a gulp, lost wherever he’s lost, even sans orgasm.

“MJ,” he pants, riding slower across her tongue as he comes back to himself. “Oh _god_, MJ.”

Once she’s swallowed everything he jetted out and felt around her mouth for drips, she pulls away and stretches her jaw. Her knees are feeling it now, even through the rug, and her legs are wobbling because of the sheer intensity of everything else, but she doesn’t ask Peter to help her up. He just knows.

MJ doesn’t get a second to stand on her own because her boyfriend folds her into a tight hug, heavy head on her shoulder. Truly wrung out. She feels pretty good about that as she tucks her arms under his to press her palms on his bare back.

“I’m tired,” he says eventually and she laughs hysterically, shaking in his arms, finally getting it out.

“That’s ok, you can lie on your back for the next part and I’ll do all the work.”

“Uh-uh,” Peter argues, shaking his head against her. “I’m gonna take care of you. Mmm.” He hums into her collarbone and MJ feels truly safe, loved. “I’m gonna take care of you,” her boyfriend repeats.

They begin kissing slowly, subtle shifts of their heads to reach temples and chins.

“That was incredible,” he whispers, and she doesn’t know if he speaks it against the skin of her throat for more reasons than one.

“Good,” she sighs, tipping her head back lazily as he kisses beneath her jaw.

“_Gonna take care of you_.”

“I know, I trust you.”

His body’s hot against hers, blood surging south. Entwined, they return to bed.


	2. C-cuffs: Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost six months later and purely the result of popular demand, a continuation.

His mind should be on the night―_Come on, Spider-Man_, he tells himself, _focus_―but instead, the night is on his mind. Not this night, a completely different one, almost a year behind him. Has it really been that long? It’s a cave of diamonds in his mind, light bouncing off all the little details because he’s thought about that night so much. Changing out of his nice clothes with relief (though it felt good to dress up for her), standing next to her in the bathroom and trying not to bump heads as they took turns spitting their toothpaste into the sink, the feel of her moving towards him between the sheets. The feel of her, the feel of her, the feel of her… Every part of that memory, of that night, is MJ. Her love and her trust and her composure―that was the thing that seemed to bring him to his knees, though she was the one to do the actual kneeling. His girlfriend was so _sure_, a hell of a lot more sure than he was, he has to admit. By the time she was crawling towards him across their bed, Peter didn’t know who was guiding who.

He huffs and, crouching behind a rooftop vent, reaches between his legs to adjust himself. Stretchy suit tonight. It was a good call. He needs the give of the fabric if he’s going to keep losing concentration on the task at hand and thinking dreamily back to the night MJ blew him on the bedroom rug and called him ‘Sir’.

“Any sign of movement, Karen?” he checks, seriously trying to get back on task.

“They seem to be systematically working their way along the wall near the cash registers,” the suit lady reports. He watches the shapes of the three men, infrared in the visual his suit has provided.

“Guess these guys aren’t the night custodians then. Ok.”

Peter stands, bounces a few times in place, then breaks into a run, launching himself off the edge of the roof. As he falls, he sends up a strand of web and makes a pretty graceful landing on the sidewalk across the street from where he’s been watching. He tests the door and it opens easily. It’s been forced with tools, which will be less of a mess for the building’s owner to fix than if these knuckleheads had broken in through a window. Lights are off inside.

“Are they still at the cash?” Peter asks Karen quietly.

“Yes, Peter. Against the south wall of the store.”

Sure enough, he sees a rogue beam of light sweep across the ceiling.

“Uh, call the cops,” he requests, “and the store manager. This shouldn’t take long.”

He steps forward carefully, holding the door to let it close as gently as possible, then creeping past displays. New releases, bestsellers―hey! Here’s a stack of that novel MJ’s been wanting to read! Peter makes a mental note and circles the table, putting his back to the bookstore’s attached Starbucks.

“Is everybody where we left them?” he wants to know, even quieter now.

“Two are, but the third is moving west, towards the children’s section.”

“Let’s get the two at the cash first.”

When he arrives at the long counter with multiple attached registers, both of his targets are bent over. Peter springs soundlessly up onto the surface and bounds along it until he’s right above them.

“Hey, did you find the books you wanted?”

They jerk upright and Peter shoots webbing at their mouths before they can yell and alert their buddy.

“You guys must have really good eyesight to be able to read in the dark.” He flips off the counter and kicks them playfully in the backs of their knees in turn to send them thudding down, hopping over the duffle they were filling with money to catch the second man when he tries to, no pun intended, book it out of there.

“Oh, flashlights, that’s smart,” Peter tells them when the first guy’s beam slides across his vision. “Would ya mind pointing that somewhere else though? Boy, I’m seein’ spots.”

Apparently, the genius with the flashlight decides his best chance to pull off this sad heist is to blind Spider-Man, but Peter convinces him to give up on those efforts by kicking the flashlight out of his hand. He webs the hands of both men behind their backs and leaves them and the money for the cops to sort out.

“Shoulda gone for the books,” is his parting suggestion. “Mighta learned something.”

Peter shrugs and jogs away, in search of bonehead number three. He wonders if it’s the distant sound of sirens the final criminal picks up (though his hearing probably isn’t as good as Peter’s) or if he’s just finished his shopping, because he comes hurrying out of the children’s section and freezes at the sight of Spider-Man blocking the path to the exit.

“Seriously, man?” Peter asks, one hand on his hip and the other gesturing towards the guy’s loot―an armful of stuffed monkeys. “You’re stealing _all_ the Curious Georges? Didn’t anybody ever teach you to share?”

The guy takes off down a side aisle.

“Ok, ok!” Peter allows, chasing him down. “I’ll let you keep one!”

He webs the man’s legs together at the knee and watches him fall forward, monkeys cascading from his grasp.

“Just kidding,” Peter says, wrestling his arms behind his back and webbing them there.

After that, he gathers the merchandise and aligns all the Georges on a shelf. By pleasant coincidence, their chase has led them to the Nature subsection of Science and Peter points to the large hardcover book on African mammals that’s facing out.

“Look at that!” he says to the man trussed on the floor. “Back in their natural habitat!”

Peter grins to himself inside the suit and Karen informs him there are two police officers entering the building. They know he’s here, but he waves his arms, wide and obvious, as he approaches them. With his directions, they remove the guys by the cash registers and their sack of money. A second squad car pulls up and while those cops go for the attempted monkey thief, Peter takes the store manager who rode with them aside.

“Hey, man. I was just wondering how many copies of that book―” He points at the display. “―you have in stock. My girlfriend really wants to read it, but it’s sold out online and by the time I’m off work, they’ll probably be gone if that’s all you―”

“Take one,” the man urges.

“Oh, no, well, I don’t have any money on me, but maybe you could, like, set one aside for me and then tomorrow…”

He shakes his head and they move aside as the cops remove the third burglar from the store.

“Please,” the manager insists, leading Peter to the table. He plucks a copy off the top. “The author came by the other day and autographed a few. This is for your girlfriend. I hope she likes it.”

Peter’s profuse in his thanks. This is amazing. He totally would’ve come back tomorrow and paid, but the guy said the cost of the book was nothing compared to how much the store would’ve lost if Spider-Man hadn’t made it his business to stop a robbery. He climbs back up to his post across the street and pulls a ratty backpack out from behind the vent. Unzipping it, Peter stows MJ’s book carefully inside; there’s other stuff in there and he wants to make sure the book will lie flat against his back on the way home. He wants it to arrive unbattered and untorn, perfect for her.

Maybe he’ll start with the book when he gets home. Give her that first.

He swings across town, back to their apartment, and changes in the alley before he enters the building and rides the elevator up to their floor. Coming home to her is the nicest feeling in the world. Besides being with her, obviously.

Peter knocks lightly at the door before using his key. It’s kinda become a tradition.

Inside, he finds her working at the kitchen table; her laptop and her elbows are resting on its surface.

“So, dinner was three hours ago,” MJ points out, but she’s smiling at him as she rocks her head sideways and catches it in her palm.

He strides over and kisses her cheek, then her mouth. Quickly, for now.

“I know. I’m so sorry, M. I was on my way home, but I kinda stumbled into an unplanned stakeout situation.”

She closes her laptop with a frown and wordlessly directs him to his dinner, waiting in the microwave to be reheated. He punches in the time and sits back against the table as it warms up.

“Holy shit, that smells good,” Peter groans. MJ snorts a laugh. She thinks he’s trying to suck up, but he just loves her. Loves that she makes dinner when she beats him home. (Although she lies and says it’s purely because she’s too hungry to wait for him, they both know she could just order in if she was really starving.) Loves that he can walk in the door and see her sitting at their table.

“Everything go ok?” she asks, breaking through his haze of unadulterated adoration.

“Better than ok, actually!” Peter remembers, straightening up in a flash and retrieving his backpack from the entryway. He unzips it and withdraws the novel. MJ gasps.

“Oh my god. Peter,” she says, looking up at him like she needs confirmation that it’s real, “oh my god! You found it!” He grins to himself as she turns her gaze back to the book. He’s waiting for the best part. She flips to the dedication page. “It’s SIGNED?”

“Is it?” he asks airily, pulling his food from the microwave the second it dings. Before he even sits down, he’s shoving a steaming bite into his mouth and talking around the minor scalding. “Wah a ni’ ‘urprise.”

Peter settles beside her and she grabs the back of his neck, drawing him towards her as he chews and swallows to plant a kiss against the side of his head.

“Thank you,” she says near his ear. The closeness of her voice gives Peter a tingly feeling, different from the one he used earlier on Spidey patrol.

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it.”

She chews her lip and his eyes slide down to it.

“Do you mind if I read while you eat?”

“Read it out loud.”

MJ sighs.

“This really isn’t your genre.”

“I just wanna hear your voice.”

He pouts. She caves. He eats. She rises to get him a glass of water when he burns his mouth again.

“I’m gonna get ready for bed,” MJ says when Peter’s finished and washing his plate in the sink. He was a couple hours too late to get his dishes in the dishwasher too, but he doesn’t mind this. It’s nice to watch the soap foam up in the hot water, to work the sponge in circles over the plate until it’s clean again.

“Actually, can you hang on just a sec?” he asks, giving the plate a firm shake before setting it on the drying rack along with his fork.

He lets the water out of the sink and turns to find his girlfriend draped over the back of a chair, arms drooping down.

“Peter, I’m tired. I need pajamas.”

“Oh, well, if you’re too tired.” Peter shrugs and turns his back to her, grinning to himself. Instead of letting his dishes air dry, he grabs a tea towel and starts drying them, slowly, by hand. He hears the tiny scraping noise of the chair as MJ undrapes.

“Too tired for what?”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.”

Will there ever come a day when his nonchalance doesn’t drive her crazy? He hopes not. She tugs his arm.

“Don’t play with me, Parker, I made your dinner.”

“I’m just trying to be considerate of your needs.”

“Really? Whatever this plan of yours is, it’s not going to upset you at all to put it off?”

Damn it, how does she _know_? He glances at her from the corner of his eye. MJ talks about him playing with her, but it’s her who knows how to play this game and every time she reminds him, he feels naked and amateur. It’s amazing. He loves (he loves, he _loves_) this about her. She’s absolutely right that putting this off would make him suffer too. Maybe not as much as her, but she isn’t aware of that yet, seeing as she doesn’t know what he’s been thinking about all day, the steps he’s taken to prepare. The book? The book was just a bonus.

“I got you something else,” he confesses, turning away from the sink. She narrows her eyes at him.

“What is it?”

Peter just smiles at her and goes back to his backpack. It jangles a little when he picks it up, without the book in there to take up space.

“Peter,” MJ sighs impatiently.

He turns so she can’t see what he’s reaching inside for.

“Shut your eyes,” he says. It’s not harsh enough to be an instruction, like they played around with on _that night_. Not yet.

When he looks at her over his shoulder, her eyes are shut.

Peter closes the distance, hand clamped tight around her next gift. Rather than tell her to open her eyes right away, he tilts his head, surprising her with a kiss to the side of her neck. He leans back to check her expression―a smile!―and when she angles her head, Peter kisses her neck again, wrapping his arm around her waist to hug her tight with his free hand in the middle of her back. Working up and down her neck, he feels her relax into him. He doesn’t want to risk speaking too soon though, needs to take her there first, to that special mindset. Lightly, he bites her earlobe. She moans and his hand drops lower, finding her ass and holding her against him. He wonders if she can feel him, then she moans again and he knows she can.

He brings his kisses up to her face, staying low near her jaw where he knows she’s ticklish whenever he surprises her with his lips. There’s a surge in his chest when he gets an abrupt laugh out of her. He kisses her mouth and MJ’s arms wind behind his neck, tugging him in and keeping him there while she initiates tongue. Peter gives a soft grunt and presses her hips harder against his own. No, shit, he has to focus. He breaks the kiss.

“Open your eyes before I completely forget what I’m doing,” Peter entreats with a laugh in his voice.

She does and her hazy, lusty stare wipes his mind for a minute anyway. One hand grips her ass through thick sweatpants, the other grips… oh right.

“Here,” he says, raising his hand and loosening his grip until her present falls most of the way out. He catches it between finger and thumb.

Lips parting, MJ glances from her gift to his face and back as she unwinds her arms and takes it from him. Between two hands, she holds up a pair of lacy red underwear. She locks eyes with him again.

“You know these’ll probably give me a rash, right?”

He almost laughs. It’s true. They’re cheap. When he bought them earlier today, he got change for the three one-dollar bills he gave the cashier.

“I don’t expect you to keep them on long,” Peter promises. His face is heating up.

“Then why did you buy them?”

“Because I didn’t think you’d be happy if I ripped any of the ones you already own off of you.”

Her arms seem to fall slowly. Suddenly, they’re around his neck again and she’s kissing him hard. _Hard_. Peter groans and does a little staggering dance with her―MJ, walking backwards, trying to guide him towards their bedroom. He gets his hand on her ass again, then the other one, and lifts her. Now it’s just his menace that their apartment has to contend with as he almost knocks a lamp off a table, Spidey-senses utterly fucked with all the blood from his brain currently in his groin. His erection’s trapped against the heat between his girlfriend’s legs and this is… not what he planned. _Shit_!

“MJ,” he mutters, interrupting the kiss. “MJ, baby, I was gonna―”

“Shhh,” she says as she grinds against him. He swears under his breath.

“It gets better though,” Peter blurts. This better convince her because he’s really, really bad at pacing himself with her when she’s as horny as he is.

It does get her attention. She halts and leans back in his arms.

“I’m listening.”

But Peter shakes his head, grinning at her.

“All _you_ have to do is go change.” He releases her gently, though his pulsing erection hates him for it. “Those on the bottom,” he says, touching the underwear curled in her fist, “and whatever you want on top.”

“Whatever I want?” MJ repeats with over-the-top fake gratitude. Peter rolls his eyes. “Wow, are you―”

His hand is resting on her hip and he lowers it to give her ass a swift smack. There’s fire behind her eyes when he steps as close as possible to whisper in her ear, “I want to dominate you.”

They’re the same words he used that first time, he’s pretty sure. From the expression on his girlfriend’s face when he steps back, they’re _definitely_ the same words. She gives him a slow smile.

“Don’t be long.”

Peter’s ready to promise he won’t be when MJ’s hand darts out and gives his cock a squeeze through his jeans. Instead of reassurance, it’s a grunt that leaves his mouth, but that reply seems to work for her; she’s heading to the bedroom while he’s still trying to regain focus. They’ve done this―returned to his occasionally flaring desire to take charge―a couple of times since the night she got on her knees for him, so the mood is familiar without being routine.

Once he’s alone and trying not to hone in on the sounds of his girlfriend undressing in the other room, Peter gets a stick of gum, blowing taut bubbles as he goes for his backpack a third time. He removes the Spidey suit and tosses it over a kitchen chair. It helped him do good work tonight, but now he needs other tools. The only things left in the bag are the cuffs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter coming next week! Preview in the tags!


	3. C-cuffs: Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter was so paranoid about the cuffs that he rented a temporary mailbox downtown so they wouldn’t be delivered to the apartment. The packaging was discreet, as promised by the online shop he got them from. They arrived yesterday in a plain package. After returning the key for the mailbox he no longer needed, Peter raced outside to find a place to change into his suit. As Spider-Man, he carried his prize up a commercial building to the back of a billboard and, blocked from view, opened it. Inside, each cuff was swathed in tissue paper, with thicker packing material surrounding them. When Peter unwrapped one completely, he found the buckles gleaming, the leather unscuffed, and the lining soft. He could tell, even through his suit. He remembers running his thumb over the lining repeatedly, fixated on the thought that this would encircle MJ’s skin. He wore the stretchy suit then too, and went home half-hard.

Should he have thought to wrap the cuffs in something while he carted them around today? Like a t-shirt? Maybe. They look pristine though, as he rotates them in his hands. He left them uncovered because he liked the sound of the buckles clinking as he moved. All day they’ve been with him. He hid them last night while MJ was in the bathroom, but he had to take them to work with him today―going straight from there to patrol―because he hadn’t known if she would beat him home. And she did. Peter feels good, like he’s organized for once, like he has this thing figured out. Like, when he walks into their bedroom with the cuffs in his hand and sees his girlfriend in the underwear he intends to make short work of, he’ll be able to do this. His can’t taste dinner on his tongue anymore, just mint, so he pitches his gum into the trash.

With a deep breath, Peter leaves the backpack behind and walks to their bedroom door with a cuff in each hand. MJ didn’t shut the door all the way and he nudges it with his foot. It eases open and, instinctively, he hides the cuffs behind his back. He can only cope with one thing at a time when the first thing is his girlfriend sitting cross-legged at the head of their bed, wearing red lace and... one of his t-shirts. Peter has to smile at the same time he groans, the visual making his dick swell back to prominence. The shirt hangs on her, the sleeves loose on her arms. If MJ didn’t have her hair down, he’d probably be able to see her collarbone where the neck dips lopsidedly.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.”

He walks to the end of the bed and nods at the shirt she’s wearing.

“Not what I was expecting.”

“You said whatever I want,” she reminds him smugly.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Unconsciously, Peter’s gaze sinks to the red underwear. It flusters him and he swallows thickly. “Uh, thanks for doing this.”

“Peter. I…”

MJ trails off and catches his eye when he looks to her face. _I’m happy to_, her expression might say. Or, _I want this as much as you do_. Or just, _I know you know how lucky you are_. He smirks a little at that last possibility and watches her take a quick breath in response.

“Come down here, would you?” Peter asks, bending quickly to set the cuffs on the floor and nudge them beneath the bed with his foot. He’ll get to them. The scenario’s coming together in his head as they move through it.

He groans, eyes locked on her, when she sways towards him on hands and knees.

“You know I fucking love it when you crawl.” It just slips out of his mouth.

“Yes,” MJ agrees, sitting back on her feet. “Sir.”

Peter shakes his head in exasperation but cuts off his own action when he dives down to kiss her, hands scooping under her hair to hold the back of her head. She makes a surprised sound against his lips, then grabs his sides. He can feel her anticipation in the way she bunches his t-shirt in her hands. With his other hand, he touches MJ’s thigh, directing her with light taps to part them and sit back on the mattress. Running his hand up her leg and around to her ass, he feels that she’s done it and eases his weight into her to gradually guide her onto her back.

They shift up the bed and rearrange their limbs, Peter dropping his hips effortlessly against hers as her legs fence him in on either side. He kisses her more fiercely now, tongue quick and hot in her mouth. MJ’s leg twines around the back of his and tenses to urge him closer. In seconds, he’s thrusting slowly against her, careful with just that lace between her clit and his jeans. He moves his lips and tongue to her throat and she chokes on a sound that bursts out of her mouth as a yearning growl.

“Why do I get the feeling you have something else for me?” she pants.

“This?” He grinds his erection between her legs.

She’s about to tell him how lame that was, but he catches her just right with the motion of his hips and she lets out a shaky cry instead. Peter forces a hand under her and takes firm hold of her ass as he moves against her again. Hips responding automatically, MJ concentrates on grasping at his t-shirt, wrenching it up a little, then running her hands over the revealed skin of his stomach. Up a little more, her hands caressing him again. She raises it as high as his arms will allow, but it won’t stay, not with him angled over her, rubbing her with such steady determination that she’s getting the crotch of his jeans damp. MJ keeps his shirt shoved up with one hand so that the other one’s free to… _Jesus_… pinch his nipples, one at a time.

On a heavy exhale, Peter tears himself away from her to sit back. The t-shirt falls into place again, but he whisks it off, making his girlfriend’s eyes track down his body. She’s waiting. He stares at how his shirt’s ridden up to show her abdomen, her navel. He stares lower. At the way his persistent grinding has encouraged the red lace closer to her body, coated in her arousal, wedged against her clit. Those underwear are coming off soon. First, he’ll check in.

“Are we ok?” Peter asks. His gaze zips to her nipples―visible through the t-shirt―once, though he tries to keep it on her face.

“Yeah.” MJ smiles reassuringly.

She shifts on the mattress, forcing her shoulder blades down and her chest up; definitely an orchestrated move. It makes him look, but then, she would’ve noticed him doing that a second ago. She’s giving him what he wants and she _knows_ it and that’s what’s so fucking sexy.

“Sit up,” he tells her.

Planting her hands, she slides back on her ass. She has to look up slightly, with Peter perched on his knees and toes. His erection standing stiff between them feels painfully obvious to him. His thoughts are just darting between it and the red underwear.

“Is there something I can do for you?” MJ asks. With a light flick of her head, she shakes her hair over her shoulders and leans back on her palms.

“I need those,” he says, nodding at one of her hands.

Instantly, she slumps forward, presenting her hands before her, palms-up.

“What for?”

“I’ll show you what for,” Peter says, voice snagging and coming out rough. MJ shuffles closer.

Gently, he takes her hand in his and places it on his stomach. She doesn’t wait for an instruction to smooth it down the front of his jeans, over the rigid length of his dick―she just does it. Peter groans and sighs and lets his head hang back to stare at the ceiling, like there’s something on it that’ll help him keep his shit together as she palms, then grasps him through the denim.

“Two hands, right?” MJ checks quietly and, before he can say anything, grips his waistband with her other hand and curls her fingers over the edge. They’re cool against the hot skin of his abdomen and the sensation makes his hips jerk. There’s also the fact that she’s really, really close to touching him. He feels himself straining for the mercy of her fingertips.

“Oh, you think you know how this goes?” he jokes, glancing down at her. But MJ leans forward instead of replying, kissing his skin right above where she’s now unbuttoning his jeans.

“No belt tonight,” she remarks flatly.

That’s turned into a bit of a fetish of hers. Whenever he starts undoing a belt with his girlfriend in the room and sees her gaze zip over to watch, they end up having sex. Sometimes he runs it over her stomach while he fucks her slowly, feasting on the way she quivers beneath him. Once, they tried using it as a restraint, securing her hands behind her back. It didn’t work that well―they had to loop it too many times and the leather was too stiff for the job―but she was incredibly, mind-blowingly wet when he bent her forward and thrust inside her. All it takes is a brush of leather to give her goosebumps, the chime of a dangling buckle to make her break out in a flush.

God, she’s gonna go wild for these cuffs.

“Something better,” he says, then drifts into a few seconds of bliss at the first swipe of her tongue on his skin. He finds himself reaching for the back of her head and doesn’t fight it. “Unzip me first.”

Peter pushes his hips forward, his erection into her hand. His mouth is dry as the pressure of the zipper leaves his cock. With his jeans unfastened all the way, MJ parts the opening and sneaks her hands inside―not to grip his erection, by to hold his hips as she leaves wet kisses lower and lower. He can feel it when her lips hit the band of his underwear.

“That’s enough!” he gasps, remember that if he doesn’t stop her, his plan is derailed.

MJ removes her hands from his pants and, as his hand goes slack at the back of her head, leans back to look up at him.

“Is it?”

He groans and rubs a hand over his face.

“I’m dominating _you_, remember?”

“You sure?” With a teasing smirk, she places her palms on his chest and leisurely slides them downward.

Fuck. God, he could just… No! The cuffs. She’ll be happy that he stuck to the plan, he knows it.

“Yeah, M, I’m sure.” Peter takes her hands off his chest before putting his on hers, groping her breasts through the t-shirt that he’ll always know looks way better on her now. “Get on your back and don’t close your legs.” He puts his mouth to her ear. “I like being able to see how wet you are.”

MJ bites hard at her lip in the blend of furious frustration he seems to inspire by simultaneously bossing her around and giving her just what she needs in the bedroom (or other parts of their apartment). She sinks back and Peter doesn’t move until her body’s fully horizontal. Then, he grins and climbs off the bed, undone jeans hanging on his hips.

“I do have something else.”

“Knew it.”

“I’ve been carrying them around since yesterday,” he divulges excitedly, a skip in his step as he goes to the end of the bed. He drops down and pops back up with the cuffs in his hands. Ok, maybe the presentation of her gift ultimately came off like the reveal at a kid’s magic show, but his dick is hard, his brain is scrambled, and MJ’s thighs are wide with that red lace nestled between them. Anyway, a few stumbles keep this real.

His girlfriend hesitates, clearly wanting to be told to sit up so she can examine what he’s holding, but he doesn’t give the order. Instead, Peter gets back onto the bed and kneels at her side.

“Your final present,” he says, and shows her one of the cuffs.

“I was hoping, but…” He can see by the rise and fall of her chest that her heart’s already racing. “_Peter_.”

“You think these’ll work?”

“If I wasn’t so ready to use them right away so we can find out, I’d blow you.”

“Have I thanked you lately for all the little romantic things you say?”

“Shut up,” MJ tells him, smirking as she traces the buckle, feels the lining.

“There are clips,” he says, pulling one out from the cuff she’s holding. “I think they should fit around the bedrails, but if not, we’ll just have to attach them to something else, temporarily. Scarves maybe. I should’ve tried them, but you were home when I brought them back with me yesterday, so I couldn’t, but if they don’t fit the rails, I’ll go out and buy something better to attach them with. I’ll go tomorrow and―”

She stops his rambling by covering his mouth with her palm. Behind it, he huffs a laugh that resolves itself into a lopsided smile of embarrassed relief.

“Let’s just see,” she suggests, stretching her arms across the mattress above her head, fingers pointing towards the bedrails.

Peter can’t prevent his smile setting into a smirk.

“Oh,” he says, “you thought these were going on your wrists?”

The confidently anticipatory expression falls from MJ’s face as a red flush rises. There’s only one other option and he’s sure she’s figured it out already, so he doesn’t say anything more. He lays his palm on her bare thigh and lightly, almost innocently, runs his hand up and down. After a few passes, his palm skids, repositioning his fingers to curve onto her inner thigh. Peter resumes stroking, never sliding his hand quite high enough to escalate things―just high enough to make them both want him to.

“Is that ok with you?” he checks when his girlfriend remains speechless. She isn’t glaring at him, so that’s a good sign.

“Yeah,” she says at last, drawing her arms back down. “I like that I’ll be able to touch you.”

“That’s what I was thinking too. That and, you know, keeping your legs spread.” Blood surges to his cock, but there’s somehow enough left over to paint his face bright pink too.

“Obviously.”

Although MJ’s tone is dry, he can tell it’s a joke. He knows her.

“You wanna sit up and watch me put them on?”

Peter can imagine a time, maybe in the near future, when he tells her to stay on her back and let him get her ready, but today, he wants her to see. He wants them to do this together, for her to be vocal and involved. To be comfortable. To be as into it as he’s been hoping she’ll be since ordering the cuffs online.

“Of course.”

He takes her hands and hauls her up, then, with a grin, slides his hand back down her leg. All the way down this time, while he shuffles back on his knees. He holds her ankle tenderly in his hand, tracing the bone with his thumb.

“Pass me one,” he says and MJ hands him a cuff.

With her stare on his hands like a laser, he makes sure the clip is out of the way and slides the strap out of the buckle, undoing it.

“You into this?” Peter asks, running the leather along her calf.

His eyes flick to her face. He smiles to himself at her nod and intense stare and fingers the apparatus more than what’s necessary to get it to fall open, flashing the pale lining.

“Honestly,” MJ mutters, “it’s watching you work a buckle as much as the buckle itself.” She inhales loudly as he wraps the cuff around her ankle, giving her a minute to adjust before he fastens it in place. “It’s... it’s your stupid hands being so meticulous when I know you could just as easily lift our fridge and throw it through the wall.”

“Yeah, but out heating already sucks, so we don’t really need that kind of draft.”

She snorts, breaking herself out of her own fixation, and meets his eyes.

“Nerd.”

He grins in acknowledgement.

“Now,” Peter tells her, “don’t touch, but let me know what feels good.” He closes the cuff and tugs the strap and, _goddamn_ it, this is supposed to be for her, this part, but her breathing’s quick and he wants to get on top of her and just... He exhales steadily through his nose. “Too tight?”

“No, it’s good,” she assures him, and he closes the buckle in place.

“That’s one.”

They share an eager little flicker of a smile as he climbs over her leg to cuff her other ankle. Again, he lets it rest in place for a minute, rubbing her leg, digging his thumb into the muscle of her calf to make her groan in startled pleasure.

“You were sitting at that table all night, weren’t you? You need to stretch your legs every once in a while.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I know you’re being sarcastic,” he says, buckling the second cuff on the same notch as he did the first one, “but that drives me crazy.”

“I’m aware.” MJ pauses and he looks up. Her smirk lets him know that’s what she was waiting for before she adds, “Sir.”

Peter grips her thighs and jerks her towards him. She grabs the back of his neck and they’re kissing, messy and rough. He slips his hands under her (his) t-shirt to hold the smooth skin of her waist. There’s a twitch as she nudges her mouth harder into his. His lips stay parted while she toys with his tongue; his attention’s on his hand, skimming up her thigh to cup between her legs. He rubs the wet lace and swears into her mouth.

“Let’s get these off of you,” he murmurs.

In a frenzy, he pushes himself back from her. He sees her recline on her elbows, then he’s turning, fumbling the clips open and fixing the cuffs to the bedrail. They fit! It feels fucking miraculous and Peter can feel himself beaming as he looks from one of her cuffed ankles to the other, absorbing the space he’s put between them. That will _stay_ between them until he’s taken and given everything he’s fucking able. There’s a good two feet between the clips. That seems wide enough for a first try. He doesn’t want her to strain any muscles keeping her legs apart for as long as it’s going to take him to do what he’s decided is the bare minimum he wants to accomplish tonight.

“Comfortable?”

MJ drops onto her back and tests the restraints. There’s some leeway to allow her ankles a small range of motion, but they’re tethered to those bedrails and aren’t going far. He can see her grinning, but she hasn’t said anything. Peter’s jeans are getting irritating, so he shoves them down his legs and tosses them over the side of the bed before moving to take his spot between her thighs. He grips her hips and leans over her, rubbing his mouth across her breast through the shirt. With trembling fingers, she draws it up, exposing her chest. Peter kneads her hips as he licks her nipple. MJ cries out at the controlled focus and scratches her nails through his hair.

“Are you comfortable, I asked,” he says, mouth moving against her nipple while she arches her back, wanting his tongue or his teeth.

“_God_,” she whines. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“Fine?”

He lifts his head to stare her down, to dare her to tell him to move faster or tease less. His girlfriend just stares back. This might be her leading him again, but, in this moment, what does he care? Peter kisses down the center of her body and by the time he’s at her stomach, he can feel her restlessness. So he stays there. Kissing her stomach, gripping her hips, until he brings one hand between her thighs and, instead of rubbing her through the underwear this time, pushes his fingers inside to feel her heat with no barrier.

“See, to me, this says you’re doing better than fine.” His voice is a little thick as he slicks his fingers and plucks at her clit.

“Peter, if you don’t do that harder, I’m going to scream,” MJ rushes out.

“Let’s not forget who’s in charge,” he says, “and who’s cuffed to my bed.”

He takes his other hand from her hip and reaches back to grasp her leg, right above the cuff. Eyes burning into hers, he gives it a shake and they listen to the rattle. He smiles as he places his hand back on her hip.

“Fuck,” she says on an exhale.

“But you _are_ gonna scream,” Peter assures her. “First―” His fingers hook the fabric at her hip and give it a sharp tug that tears it apart. “―with my fingers inside you and _then_...” Rather than quit playing with her clit, he crosses his free hand over and grabs the cheap red lace. This side isn’t any sturdier than the first; it rips in a quiet, final burst of sound. “...when I’m driving my cock through all this.”

He pulls the destroyed underwear away―not too fast, so they don’t rasp across her skin―and watches his hand as he fingers her for emphasis. He leaves her clit and rubs his middle fingertip delicately along her entrance. MJ tilts her hips and Peter glances at her flushed face, her half-lowered eyelids.

“Does that sound good to you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He bites the inside of his cheek and lets his finger dip inside. Just barely. The action’s minute―how Peter bobs his finger in and out. He watches it disappear and reappear, enhanced vision making up for the fact that the warm light of their bedside lamps doesn’t reach this far, doesn’t leap the spike of her hip, doesn’t spill over the round of her pubic bone. Meanwhile, MJ moves impatiently. Because he wants to give her what she wants, he presses another finger into her heat and curls both deeper. She offers a low, unrestrained moan in return.

“More of that, please, _Sir_.”

Peter grins and retakes her hip in his other hand, rolling his fingers as he squeezes. He continues the curling motion while he finally (he can hear her pant of relief and eagerness) trails kisses lower than her stomach. He closes his eyes for a second. _Remember this_, he thinks. Then, Peter finds her clit with the tip of his tongue. Her legs jerk violently, clanging the clips into the bedrails when the cuffs impede her.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he reminds her, lips brushing her clit. He can offer something though. “Remember, I left your hands free.”

Immediately, they’re on his head, combing through his hair and tracing his ears as he curls both his fingers and his tongue now, jostling her clit. Peter’s continually flexing his hand on her hip to pull her against his mouth then hold her still when she reacts to his zeal. She’s moaning now though, as he withdraws his tongue and catches her clit tenderly between his teeth, fingers plunging and hooking just below his chin. MJ’s legs thrash. Is it the nearing orgasm that’s making her fidgety or does she just like to feel the resistance, the reminder that he has her restrained?

Peter breathes hard through his nose and flattens his tongue to her clit. He doesn’t lick, just holds it there, because he’s sped up his fingers and MJ’s working herself over his tongue all on her own. God, he’s fucking throbbing to be inside her. He lets go of her hip and tucks his arm beneath her, bracing her lower back as he angles her hips higher against his mouth. Her first short scream is like a false start―a shock of sound with her hands on either side of his head and her cunt riding his tongue. Then, Peter digs his fingers in sharply and the definitive scream comes as his girlfriend does. It’s like the start of her orgasm was a blip, a hiccup, before the full force of it announced itself.

He removes his fingers from her body and chuckles against her in between light licks, coaxing MJ through her pleasure as it tapers off. His arm’s still holding her firmly from beneath and he grabs her thigh with his newly free hand. From the way he clutches her leg... it’s as though he’s the one who was adrift and she’s the solid ground he’s washed up on.

“I love you,” Peter mumbles against her before sitting back, with effort. Her hands drop from his head to fall against the sheets and her eyes close.

He’s not ashamed to admit that he’s staring. MJ’s tossed her hair around and writhed until her shirt’s rucked up. Her heart rate’s coming down, but to his starving eyes, her chest is swelling and plummeting. And, of course, there are her forcibly spread legs, everything bared to him. He positioned her like that, tied her in place. Peter doesn’t think, just tugs the band of his boxer briefs away from his abdomen and shuffles it down to liberate his erection. He groans when he closes a hand around his cock. _Fuck_, she’s so perfect. She looks _so_ good.

MJ opens her eyes. It takes no time for her gaze to lower, for her to observe how he continues stroking himself with her watching. If anything, he thrusts his hips forward so she can see better.

“Why don’t you come down here?” she invites and her voice is different, since that scream. His length pulses in his hand.

Peter moves to sit at the side of the bed first, removing his underwear.

“I don’t get to tear yours off, Sir?” MJ teases behind him. He smiles at her over his shoulder.

“No, I don’t think so.”

Naked, he turns and lies down with her, holding her inner thigh and feeling her pulse, never not thinking about the other end of this leg being cuffed to their bed. He kisses all over her face, soft, but with that thought, he can’t relax like she has. His dick’s too hard for him ignore it. MJ’s whispering that she loves him and he’s fucking through his own fist, pumping slowly but constantly. She twists her neck to watch. When her eyes slide back up and her nose bumps his, she leans into him, kissing him teasingly until he grips the back of her neck and pushes his tongue into her mouth.

“Can I do that for you?” she asks the second they break the wet kiss. Her fingers skate across his abs, then close around his wrist, not stopping him, but moving through the motion with him as he strokes himself.

“No,” he tells her, grinning close to her face.

“No?”

She scoots down the bed a little to give herself room, her legs falling open more. Peter lays his thigh over hers and lets her nudge her leg up. He keeps kneading her inner thigh and glances between them―him on his side, her on her back―to where her leg’s fitted between both of his. His face practically flinches into a wider smile. He nuzzles across her face to find her ear, hair soft and fragrant in its waves on their white sheet.

“Touch yourself,” Peter instructs.

MJ doesn’t reject it, just turns her head slowly, giving him time to draw his face back so their eyes can meet.

“Where?”

“You decide. Do it,” he urges, releasing his cock before he’s too far gone. “Right now.”

Does she think he’ll try to take over if she reaches between her legs? Peter’s not sure, but it could be a little display of control when she glides her hands over her chest instead. He bites his lip, tracking her hands with his eyes, feeling hers on his face. In a flurry, she peels his t-shirt from her body, wiggling to get it free. She doesn’t cover herself with her hands right away. He can see his girlfriend’s nipples, firm and peaked with her arousal. When she caresses the undersides of her breasts, he’s jealous. He’s stupid jealous. He wants to be the one touching her like that; he wants her to touch _him_ like that, drag those unhurried fingers across _his_ skin.

At her thigh, he hitches his hand higher, into the heat at the crook of her leg. He won’t let himself take his dick in hand. He can deal with this for a few minutes, be her audience. After all, the problem isn’t that he doesn’t like it―he likes it too much. MJ sweeps her hands up, hoisting her breasts higher, then back down, hiding them away under her hands. She parts her fingers like she’s giving him an erotic little peepshow, despite being totally naked. Her nipples pop free and Peter swears his tongue might be hanging out. Her tease makes him feel like such an animal and, fuck, what’s he doing now but humping her hip for relief. He slows without stopping as MJ trails her fingers across her nipples. Such small loops and flutters, but he swears they’re making him dizzy.

With one hand, she continues, but he follows the other hand as she lifts it to her mouth, sucking the tip of her index finger between her lips. Peter startles himself with a groan when she uses her wetted finger to circle her nipple. She ducks her chin enough to blow cool air across it and moans at however it makes her feel; her hips shift restlessly and he doesn’t know how long he can put himself through this. Then, she starts plucking at her nipples with both hands, back arching slightly from their bed.

“Harder,” Peter breathes in her ear. “Rougher. You can stand it. You fucking need it,” he babbles, thrusting against her.

MJ whines and he practically leaps to connect his mouth with hers. The kiss is sloppy, hungry. They both want more, he can tell.

“God, _Peter_,” she breaks off to say, tugging her nipples.

One hand keeps it up and she wets the fingers of the other again, but they don’t return to her breast. MJ doesn’t touch herself until that hand’s down between her thighs. She makes the clips ring against their metal bedrails and moans. Peter’s breathing hard. How much more of this can he just be a bystander for? None. The answer is none.

“My turn,” he says, deftly snatching her wrist and bringing her fingers to his lips this time, wetting them on his tongue. They taste like her. Now, he doesn’t stare at anything except his girlfriend’s brown eyes, dark and glassy like polished wood. He lowers her hand back into position. His fingers align with hers, lying right on top.

“Sir,” she says. It’s a desperate pleasure in her tone. Peter forces her fingers to move faster.

“You want me?”

“Yes.”

Her chest rises, falls. Her fingers switch to her other nipple. His eyes are all over her and he has to jerk his cock away from her hip, has to deny himself this too. Anything is too much with her enjoying herself like this.

“You want me inside you?” Peter asks insistently, pushing his lips right against her ear. “Or should I just watch you get yourself off? You’re gorgeous like this,” he murmurs. “I’m gonna love you forever.”

“I want you, I want _you_,” MJ vows, hips rocking for her own touch, his fingers compelling hers.

She shimmies her hand up, out from under his―trying to let him take over, he figures―but it’s right during the slippery trade-off, the friction of her finger going and his coming, that she climaxes with a gasp. This night. This fucking _night_. Peter’s basically beside himself with how badly he wants her. He plays gently with her clit as she emerges from that rush of ecstasy.

“It was good,” she pants, “but I didn’t know I was that close.” She looks him dead in the eye, shaking her head in astonishment. “It’s, it’s everything you _say_. It’s _you_.”

He could get romantic with her, like he does. Hug MJ to his chest and breeze sweet words over her cheeks as he runs a fingertip along the lashes of her closed eyes. Go on about that forever he’s gonna have her for. Elaborate on every dream he has with her in it (all of them). He breaks her stare to look all the way down her body to that cuff wrapped around her ankle.

“It’s gonna be me again,” he says, pushing himself up from her side, taking his fingers from her clit.

He reaches over her body to brace himself on his palms. His legs lie between hers as he mounts her; his cock, which has suffered long enough, doesn’t quite touch her as he maintains a small gap. If he touches her, he’ll want to be able to keep touching her, and he needs to do one more check first.

“Your legs feel ok? The cuffs aren’t hurting your ankles?”

“I can last a little longer,” MJ says with a smirk, curling her hair around her fingers, then spreading it as far as it’ll go across the sheet.

“Yeah, but do you want to?”

Her lips part, then close as she thinks.

“I’m really enjoying them, and they don’t hurt, but maybe I can watch you take them off me?”

Yeah, that sounds really good to him.

“Sure,” he says, and shoves off the mattress to sit back.

When he turns to the side, his girlfriend’s hand squeezes his ass. He raises his eyebrows at her.

“What? I’ve been deprived tonight. I get to handle your ass so much more when I suck your cock.”

Peter just about chokes.

“_Jesus_, M.”

“Oh, is it just you talking dirty tonight?”

“_Yes_,” he laughs, because he can’t deal with that kinda stuff coming out of her mouth and keep any sort of cool. She sighs and starts to sit up. “No,” Peter says, serious with her now. “No more negotiation, no more compromise. I want you on your back.”

Her face flushes brightly. He sees her mouth twitch to contain a smile.

“Yes, Sir.”

…But MJ doesn’t make it totally easy. Her hands go to her breasts and his eyes follow.

“Don’t try to distract me,” he warns, smoothing a palm down her leg.

“Never.”

“This is for you.”

“I know, Sir.”

“The sooner I get these off of you, the sooner I can give you that other scream I promised.”

“I’ve never doubted you,” she agrees and he has her now because he’s lifting her leg. The clip jingles as it slides up the bedrail. Peter wants her to be able to see. And she’s sure as hell looking.

As much as he can, he takes his time slipping the leather strap through the buckle and prying it back to unfasten the cuff. He leaves it attached to the rail, dangling by the clip. It can wait. Her ankle he immediately takes into his hands, stroking lightly as he looks for scrapes, for the beginning of a bruise, for damage of any kind. MJ is incomparably more valuable than a set of cuffs. Her skin’s hot, a little red, but it looks fine and she told him nothing hurts. He turns and moves on to the second cuff. The feeling of his girlfriend’s rapt gaze is heavy in the best way, thick and promising. Speaking of―Peter’s gaze darts down to his crotch as he caresses and releases MJ’s other ankle.

“You still wanna stay on your back?” he asks before he moves into position.

“You still want me this way?” she counters smugly, bending her knees more than she’s been able to since he restrained her and lifting her hips to flash the wetness he’s dying to thrust into. Peter clenches his jaw.

“You fucking bet I do, M.”

Swiftly, he climbs over her, grips his cock (groaning), and pushes the head inside her warmth. MJ runs her hands up his arms to his shoulders. He can see goosebumps on her skin. She hums in satisfaction as he presses gradually into her body, thighs subtly urging him on by closing against his hips. After the first withdrawal, Peter drills forward―sudden and deep―and her legs jump up to enclose him. This might be hard and fast. This might be a force of nature.

“Been waiting all day to come home to this,” is his murmured confession, staring straight down at her as he uses his stomach muscles for quick, snapping thrusts that her hips are fighting to match the rhythm of. She jolts on their bed, gasping, brow furrowed, hands clasping his shoulders.

Still, MJ smirks, clenching around his cock. The action makes Peter miss a breath and gulp the next one.

“Of course you were,” she says. He fucks her faster.

“You missed the ‘Sir.’”

But his thrusts are too energetic for her to respond at the moment.

“And don’t act like you knew,” he huffs, moving a hand from the mattress to grip her thigh, to hoist it even higher on his hip. With a shallow buck, he skims her clit and her leg shakes under his fingers. “You didn’t. Not everything.”

God, it’s hard to speak a sentence longer than two words suddenly. Might be his girlfriend clenching again. Might be her fingernails on his nipple. His thrusts aren’t as measured, but they’re determined.

“Say I surprised you, hmm?” Peter prompts, dropping his upper body to follow his lower body, still catching her clit. He kisses MJ’s cheek, lets his lips rub against hers in a path governed by the furious, focused motion of their bodies.

“You did, Sir,” she pants. Her arms fold around his neck, sweaty palms slap and part from his upper back.

“Say this was better than letting you…” He runs out of breath. Pounds into her. Catches his breath. “…go to bed early…” Repeat. “…and that you don’t miss your pajamas.”

“Never.”

“What?” Peter laughs and MJ grins then moans, battling nearing orgasm and laughter in his arms as he pulls her against him. “_Never_?”

“Denounce my PJs like that? That is too far, Parker.” Then she says his name again, in a heavenly shriek. Fuck, he’s so close, everything so hot as he moves slickly in and out of her.

“Say it,” he demands, grinning until he has to clench his teeth together, holding back. He goes slower, but harder. MJ tips her head back, neck long and taut against his mouth when he kisses it.

“This was better,” she sighs.

He smiles a cocky smile, feeling her tighten up around him, letting his hips put in all the effort now as she tenses, focused on letting the orgasm come to her. Letting Peter bring it.

“_Sir_,” MJ adds.

She’s been peppering that word in all night, but he wasn’t expecting it this time. Said right before his girlfriend hits her climax, it propels Peter forward, slamming into her faster and turning her gusty moan into a cry. He imagines sharpening her pleasure like a blade held to a grindstone. His orgasm arrives somewhere between thrusts, buzzing through him, sliding electrically along his veins. Peter doesn’t get MJ’s name out until his last solid thrust―fingers digging into her thigh, mouth open against hers―and it bursts out in a grunt of absolute fulfilment.

He feels the overwhelmed wetness on her cheeks as MJ gathers him to her. Releasing her leg, he hands her control of his body now. Compiles when she asks for his lips, happily closes his eyes when her fingers itch through his hair. When she wants to get up, he knows before she has to ask, withdrawing from her, rolling off, following her into the bathroom with infinite devotion. While she pees, he steps into their shower. The space is large and square, enclosed in glass, and the reason they tolerate less desirable aspects of the apartment, like small closets and heating issues.

In a minute, MJ’s stepping inside to join him and Peter can only stare at her as she stands close enough to be under the hot spray with him. When she lays a heavy head on his shoulder, he kisses her temple and reaches around her, slowly winding her soaked hair into a braid that’ll fall apart the second he lets it go. The glass around them is already fogging.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who requested a continuation of the original one-shot! You made this happen. Hope to hear from you in the comments!


End file.
